The Lady.
Which must not serve Monsieur, I fear,
Beyond the little grating here.
M. Jolicœur (aside).
(She's perfect. One may push too far,
Piano, sano.)
(They reach the gates.)
Here we are.
Permit me, then ...
(Placing her in the carriage.)
And Madame goes?...
Your coachman?... Can I?...
The Lady (smiling).
Thanks! he knows.
Thanks! Thanks!
M. Jolicœur (insidiously).
And shall we not renew
Our ... "Ems acquaintanceship?"
The Lady (still smiling).
Adieu!
My thanks instead!
M. Jolicœur (with pathos).
It is too hard!
(Laying his hand on the grating.)
To find one's Paradise is barred!!
The Lady.
Nay.—"Virtue is her own Reward!"
[Exit.
M. Jolicœur (solus).
Beau-vau?—Beau-vallon?—Beau-manoir?—
But that's a detail!
(Waving his hand after the carriage.)
Au Revoir!
THE CARVER AND THE CALIPH.
(We lay our story in the East.
Because 'tis Eastern? Not the least.
We place it there because we fear
To bring its parable too near,
And seem to touch with impious hand
Our dear, confiding native land.)